Lysander stood, but his eyes stared at the floor, obstinately refusing to glance up. Lyana pursed her lips but didn’t look away as the queen continued.
“May we gift our offering to the god Aethios in the name of Taetanos, god of fate and fortune and all that comes in the life that follows. Metal ores and jewels from our homeland to keep the House of Peace prosperous, and our gratitude for all that you sacrifice on our behalf in serving our god Aethios, the highest of them all.”
The prince flew swiftly to the empty throne by the queen's side, not sparing Lyana a second glance. Not sparing anyone a second glance, really. Even his own mother wasn’t given so much as a smile as he took his place and kept his eyes down.
No need to be a grump, Lyana thought, fighting the desire to cross her arms and frown. Yes, she’d fibbed a little. Yes, she’d let him believe she was someone else. Yes, she’d wanted to shock him. But really, the least he could do was pretend to be thrilled, just a bit, just a smidge. Wasn’t he happy to see her? Wasn’t this a good surprise? Wasn’t he relieved, like she had been when she’d discovered who he was?
Alas, even from across the room she could see the taut muscles in his neck as his jaw clenched. If he wasn’t careful, she might be tempted to see what the hummingbird prince was all about after all.
At least he knows how to make a girl feel special, she huffed, snatching her gaze from the raven prince as her father stood, spreading his wings and his arms.
“The House of Peace thanks you and your gods for these kind offerings. We will present them to Aethios in the hope that he will show his favor with a gift of his own.”
Lyana glanced at Luka. Together they stood, leaped from the dais in unison and landed on either side of the offering basket. This moment was the most important one of the night, and she wouldn’t let any prince sour it for her. Instead, she fastened a smile on her lips and gripped the handle tightly, lifting the basket with her brother as they took to the air once more. They carried the offerings over the royal dais and through the doors behind, which had silently opened as her father spoke.
The sacred nest.
Lyana filled her lungs with the power that lingered in this hall. Behind them, the doors to the atrium slid shut with a click. Before them, the golden gate of the nest loomed. A priestess stood with a key, waiting until they landed before slipping the small door at the base of the gilded bars open to welcome them and their gifts inside.
No matter how many times Lyana walked into this room, she was still in awe. The towering crystal dome. The trees and vines and flowers draped over every surface. The chirps of hundreds of doves housed in the nest. And most of all, the orb floating in the center of the room, a few feet off the ground, alight with a glow nearly as bright as the sun, touching every spot around it, pulsing with an energy Lyana could feel in her core—the power of Aethios. His god stone thrummed with the same sparkling magic that ran through her veins. Some swore it was silver, others gold, others a mix of the two, but whichever the case, the orb thrummed with might. Every house had a stone, but his was the most powerful—his was the arch stone keeping their world high among the clouds and safely in his realm.
Lyana and Luka gently placed the basket on the ground and knelt, dipping their foreheads to the floor and spreading their wings as a show of devotion. Five more priests and priestesses appeared from the hidden depths of the grove, removing the offerings and placing them beneath the god stone. She knew she was supposed to keep her head down and her eyes closed. She knew she wasn’t supposed to look. But she couldn’t help it.
Lyana peeked.
Her gaze slid across the ground to Aethios’s chosen. They hid their feet beneath layers of heavy, draping robes, so they almost appeared to float across the ground, although Lyana knew they couldn’t fly. They were wingless. They were the mighty few Aethios himself had selected to live within his shrine and serve him in the holiest of roles—blessing everyone else with the gift they’d been denied.
It was hard to imagine that she, too, had once been completely human, a babe only a few hours old, not a feather to her name. But they were all born that way, and then they were brought here, to the sacred nest, where Aethios would select a bird from his collection to fuse with their body, giving them wings. The priests and priestesses were the conduits of his power—that was their gift. They’d never know the sky, but they were god-touched. If their gift felt anything like using her magic, Lyana imagined they were honored to have been chosen.
She kept watching as they arranged the presents in a circle around the god stone, each carefully situated where the isle that had offered it would be. The aura emanating from the stone pulsed, growing brighter, and the edges of the smooth crystal began to spark and sizzle. Aethios was pleased.
The priests and priestesses reached into their pockets and lifted a small polished crystal. They placed their free palms against the god stone, bodies jerking as the potent current of Aethios’s might coursed through them, heads snapping toward the sky, pupils rolling into the backs of their heads, elated smiles passing over their lips. A golden halo began to shine from beneath their robes as the crystals in their palms lit with a hidden fire, clear centers turning murky and then brilliant as Aethios’s power settled in. After a few moments, the priestesses snapped the connection, but the spark in the stones remained.
Lyana swiftly closed her eyes and returned her forehead to the floor, aware she’d moved slightly out of position as she’d watched. The priests and priestesses placed the six blessed stones in the basket. Five of them disappeared back into the forests of the nest, little more than spirits among the birds. One remained, pressing two fingers to the top of Luka’s head and then Lyana’s, the sign that it was time for them to go. Not saying a word, she led them back to the gate and opened it just long enough for the two of them to soar through.
They flew to the other end of the hall but didn’t make eye contact until they stopped, hovering before the door into the main atrium. Luka lifted his hand to knock, but paused, finding Lyana’s gaze.
“Did you look?” he whispered ever so softly, a certain gleam in his eye.
Lyana returned the gleeful expression, raising a brow even though he couldn’t see it beneath her mask. “Didn’t you?”
The softest laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head and drummed his knuckles against the door. By the time they reentered the atrium, he was the crown prince once more—lips folded in an inscrutable line, eyes focused, mood stoic. Lyana tried to copy him, but there was just too much joy tumbling through her, and she wanted to hold on to that little thrill of mischief, that vivacity of youth.
As she lifted her three stones from the basket, she didn’t glance toward the grouch still frowning in the corner, even as her head longed to turn in his direction. Instead, she soared straight to the hummingbirds, presenting their crown prince with his god-touched stone, a sign of Aethios’s blessing to his people, and met Prince Damien’s grin with one of her own. She flitted to her next suitor, the puffed-up crown prince of the House of Paradise, whose emerald neck feathers ruffled with appreciation as she handed him his gift. And then she gave her final stone to the crown prince of the House of Wisdom, liking how his owl wings reminded her of her best friend, enjoying the shy gratitude in his dark brown eyes.
Lyana didn’t spare a glance toward the House of Whispers, even as Lysander’s burning gaze darted in her direction, almost like a touch she could sense without looking.
Two can play at that game, she thought, pointedly keeping her face turned forward. Princess Lyana Aethionus chased after no man. After all, why would she when it would be oh, so easy to get him to chase after her?
21
Rafe
Rafe shook his head a little, trying to clear his mind as the princess before him spoke about something—what, he wasn’t exactly sure, but something.
Focus.
Think about Xander.
This is for him.
Not for you.
For him.
Still, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from shifting and his frown from deepening as his eyes landed on the ivory-draped princess on the other side of the ballroom, her clothes so bright in the firelight they may as well have been a beacon, her laughter so loud he could hardly hear the girl next to him. Three of the princes surrounded the dove as she held court, asking question after question, smile growing wider as she continued sipping on hummingbird nectar. His fingers balled into fists when he watched her reach out and squeeze the arms of the smug purple-winged jerk who kept flashing his dimples as though they were some sort of prized possession.
“Do you read much?”
“Huh?” Rafe mumbled, snapping his attention to the princess standing right by his side and away from the one on the other side of the room. His companion was one of the few princesses who had bothered trying to know him, the raven prince. For Xander’s sake, he needed to get this right. All through dinner he’d been doing the math—there were five crown princes and four second daughters, which meant one crown prince would be left unmated. A simple numbers game. And he couldn’t fail his people. He couldn’t leave Xander without a queen. He couldn’t fail his brother. “Oh, yes, I love to read.”
At least, if he were truly Xander, that would be his response.
The princess lit up. “Oh, what sort of topics are your favorites?”
Coralee was her name. Coralee. He fought to keep that at the forefront of his thoughts, because a girl like this would be perfect for his brother. The Princess of the House of Wisdom was kind and sophisticated. Like all the owls, she’d spent her life tending to the books in the great libraries of legend, studying politics and history. She was someone Xander would speak to for hours on end. Yet here he was, sounding like a blithering idiot, unable to recall a single title of any of the books he’d been forced to read as a child.
Rafe gritted his teeth as the chiming laughter of another princess filled the ballroom once more. Coralee waited patiently.
“Um,” he grunted. “Everything. Anything. How about you?”
Before she could answer, a strain of music made the room fall silent. The next dance was about to begin. Coralee eyed him hopefully, but Rafe just wasn’t sure he could bear another round. He’d danced with her once, and with the other two princesses he’d considered possible matches for his brother—Iris, the Princess of the House of Paradise, who had put his moves to shame as she twirled around him in graceful circles, turning his already grumpy mood even more sour; and Elodie, the Princess of the House of Song, about whom he could regrettably recall nothing, because Ana had been dancing with Damien, the arrogant hummingbird Rafe already loathed with a fiery passion. His mind had instead dwelt on the two of them for the entire time.
“Excuse me, I’m a bit thirsty,” Rafe muttered quickly, watching Coralee's face fall slightly as he stepped away. Before he even moved a few feet, one of the other princes who had been by Ana’s side swooped in with a bow, offering her his hand.
Not Ana, he chastised as he walked toward the banquet table at the back of the room and grabbed a drink. Lyana. Princess Lyana. Princess Liar, more like it.
“What are you doing?” Queen Mariam asked under her breath, making Rafe start.
His instinct to flee only grew as he turned to meet her raging violet eyes. “What do you mean? I’m getting a drink, and I’m mingling.”
“First the stunt with the dove, and now you’re turning your back on a princess who clearly wanted to dance with you?” she whispered over the edge of her glass, her voice a silent arrow striking him right in the heart. A smile, sharp as ever, graced her lips. To the outside observer, it probably looked affectionate. “Need I remind you that you are representing my son right now? A true crown prince, who can evoke the respect and admiration that should go along with that title?”
“No, you don’t,” Rafe shot back with a grin to match hers. Xander had more charm in his pinky finger than Rafe had in his whole body, which was why Rafe had never wanted this job in the first place. But they couldn’t risk Xander’s handicap being discovered, not now that the ruse was set, so the queen was stuck with him, whether she liked it or not. Rafe rolled his shoulders, stretching neck muscles that had grown uncomfortably tight beneath her scrutiny. “I needed a quick break.”
“Playing the heir means you don’t have the privilege of a break,” she seethed. “When this dance is done, go ask the Princess of the House of Peace to dance. You’ve been ignoring her all evening for no reason that I can understand when she is the best catch of them all. Do what you came here to do—”
“She wouldn’t be a good mate for Xander,” Rafe cut in, scanning the room to make sure they weren’t receiving any unwarranted attention.
“I don’t care what you think. She’s the daughter of Aethios. Your opinion is irrelevant.”
“The owl princess is sweet and scholarly. She—”
“You think I don’t know that?” The queen reached out and took the drink from his hand, eyes harder than rocks as she glared at him. “I’ve studied all of my son’s potential matches. I know who would suit him and who wouldn’t. And I think as the queen of a loving people, I know better than you, a raven barely tolerated in his own house, how to play the game of politics. The doves will never pick us, their princess will never pick you, but if you can make the other houses believe it’s a possibility, you will become far more desirable. Right now, we are the forgotten house, and if there’s one crown prince left standing alone at the end of this, in their eyes that ought to be you. But we have to change that opinion, for Lysander. So be charming, for once in your godforsaken life. Be charming the way my son would have been if he weren't determined to use you like the crutch you are.”
Biting back a response, Rafe turned on his heels and left Queen Mariam, clutching his hands behind his back as he retreated to the other side of the room, for once not aware of the princess but of his queen, of needing to stand as far away from her as possible—because she was right, and the truth of her words made her blows even harder to take.
Xander should have been there. He would have charmed the crowd, would have had them so wrapped up in his words they would have never even noticed his hand, never cared that he couldn’t release an arrow from a bow or wield a sword well—not when he could make them laugh until they cried, when he could discuss theory until dawn, when he was intellectually and emotionally superior to every arrogant prince in this room.
Xander was using Rafe as a crutch.
And Rafe let him.
He didn’t know how to say no to his brother—not when his brother was the only reason Rafe was alive, the only reason he had a place to call home.
This is for Xander.
For Xander.
Rafe repeated the words over and over as he scanned the room, searching for the source of that musical laughter, finding her in the center of the dance floor, gown fluttering in some unknown source of wind that seemed to be following her around as the hummingbird prince with the grating smile twirled with her.
For Xander, he thought again, taking a deep breath.
Then he stepped onto the dance floor and cut his way through the crowd, marching straight to her.
22
Lyana
At first, she’d admit, she had been playing up the laughter and the smiles for the benefit of the grouch in the corner who had yet to formally introduce himself to her or make polite conversation. But as proud, boastful Prince Damien continued to spin her around the dance floor, Lyana realized she was enjoying herself. Enjoying the attention, yes, but mostly enjoying the stories. For once in her life, Lyana could ask as many questions as she wanted about all the lands she yearned to visit, and someone was there to answer.
Milo, the boisterous and jovial Prince of the House of Paradise, had mesmerized her with tales of his rainforest home, an isle where the tree canopy was so thick it was sometimes difficult to see the sky, where flower petals could grow to be the size of her arm, where the air was so warm and he
avy it stuck to the skin like a damp blanket. He was a far better dancer than she, but he never showed it. Instead, he used his skills to lead her in dizzying circles she could have never managed on her own, while describing the balls his family hosted and painting the most wonderful pictures with his words.
Nico, the more reserved but delightful Prince of the House of Wisdom, had eventually, after much pushing and prodding, overcome his evident shyness to tell her about his home, an isle similar to hers in that the air was cold and the ground uninviting. But unlike her home, his was so far north there were months when the sun never set, and months when it hardly seemed to rise. They didn't live in a city of crystal, but in the dark underground, in sweeping caves the size of her palace, connected by an elaborate system of hollowed passages, all of which led to the great library at the heart of his house.
And Damien, too charming by half, had spent their first dance enthralling her with the image of his homeland, the isle of the hummingbirds. A vast mountain range cut through the center of their lands. On the eastern side stood a dense rainforest with every fruit and plant imaginable, while the west held a sprawling desert with nothing but sand for miles, aside from a river that cut through the monotony. The palace rested on the riverbank, a location chosen as all the major cities were—by the god stone at their centers and the sacred nest they protected.
“Are the palace walls really made of towering gardens?” Lyana asked, continuing the conversation from their previous dance. Soft tendrils of music accompanied their movements. “I can’t even picture it.”
Damien laughed, a deep, rich sound that would make any girl’s heart skip a beat. Lyana’s was no different. “They are. My god, Eurythes, provides the water through a river he must have carved into the land himself. We take seeds from all different parts of the rainforest, cultivating our palace and the barren ground around it into the most beautiful garden you’ve ever seen, full of more color than a dove living in this snowy isle could ever imagine.”
The Raven and the Dove Page 13
